Homecoming (Lesbian)

CHAPTER 18 PART 1

I knocked on the door of the apartment with the number 13 on it a little passed midday. I felt my palms sweating as I rubbed them against each other to remind myself that this is just a visit. Two old friends catching up. Right?

Her soft voice resounded in my ears when she said "Coming." Making my heart beat faster. Four years, four goddamned years, and she could still do that to me. She opened the door and gave me a sweet smirk. "Come on in," As I saw her smile, I thought, of course she could.

I walked in slowly, fearing I would be upsetting some kind of rule. This was not her home. This was their home. I could tell.

A two bedroom apartment on the sixth floor with a small balcony on the back, the kind you only use to go for a smoke. There were flowers on the railing of the balcony. Maybe culinary herbs or something like that. To my left there was the kitchen, a small but sophisticated space with a two door refrigerator and magnets stuck to them. I could've swore they were the types of magnets you use to hang photographs off the fridge, but there were no photos.

The apartment was painted light blue. There were landscape painting hanging from the walls; I recognized the style as Faye's. To my right, the hallways leading to the two bedrooms and past the kitchen, a small two sit table and behind it, two sofas, a coffee table and a LED TV stuck to the wall. It was what people nowadays call minimalistic, but I wasn't fooled, everything in that house looked expensive. The sofas were pure leather, the coffee table had an strange yet appeling form to it and the kitchen was stuck with more that everything you needed, including a crepe maker.

"Nice place," I said with my hands in my pockets. I didn't want to touch anything and contaminate her life with my... presence. It's stupid but I didn't want to be a part of them.

"Thanks. Put your jacket on the couch. I need help with the sauce."

I laughed. "You always need help with the sauce."

I removed my jacket, folded it up with my one arm and placed it on the couch's arm. "Don't muck me," she said as I stood next to her.

The sauce was still quite watery. I stuck my finger into the sauce to taste it. It was a bit under seasoned and it could use a couple of things, but that was not what Faye was interested in.

"Hey! Don't do that!" she hit my hand laughing.

"Sorry, sorry." I said, but she knew I wasn't sorry.

"Oh, please. If I leave you alone with the sauce you'll do it again."

"Okay, not sorry. Do you have some basil or something like that?"

"I think, yeah. Maybe."

She walked passed me with her body too closed to mine, opened up one of the cupboards and pulled out dried basil. That should do it. We added basil, a pinch of pepper and another tiny pinch of salt and allowed the sauce to reduce. Then comes the meatballs.

She started adding stuff to the grounded beef as if she knew exactly what to add and how much of it. When I questioned her with my gaze, she responded "It's my mom's recipe."

I watched her every move as if I were learning what could be the most important thing in the world to me. I loved the way she looked so excited to be making the meatballs her mom had taught her. Maybe because they were her dad's favorite. Maybe because they were mine. Maybe it had nothing to do with either, it was just the enviroment that hd turned into a light air that made you feel warm when you breathe.

As I stood behind her with my eyes on the bawl she used to mix everything, I took a look at her, she had being exercising, she had a small one inch tattoo on her left wrist. I didn't see it clearly that time, but I would go on to know it was an E, from Erick. She had also gotten a larger one on the inner side of her right forearm. About three per four inch of a black and white, get this, owl. Why? No freaking idea. She doesn't know herself. She got it soon after we broke up. Some people drink, some people go to strip clubs; my ex-got the tattoo of an owl after the break. Who am I to judge.